Page 13 of Until I’m Safe in Your Arms

“From 1857 until 1859. The primary fighting and bloodshed ended in June of ’58, though.” Alex had avidly followed the dispatches and newspaper articles on the massacres throughout the conflict, his blood seething with rage at the atrocities. He’d prayed fervently that his regiment would be called to serve there, but to his continued regret, that had not occurred.

“Mr. Washer was a shareholder in the East India Company, so I suppose it’s possible.” Uncle Jack climbed into the break. “Miss Washer hasn’t spoken of it to you?”

“Of this, no, not a word.” Could there be another explanation?

“Then take some advice, my boy. Let her tell you of it in her own time.” His uncle nodded, a grim look in his eye. “If you try to pry, the fairer sex will withdraw and you never know if they will ever speak to you again.”

“You sound as though you speak from experience, uncle.”

“I do, Alex. Believe me, I do.” With a sigh, Uncle Jack sat back in the cart. “We’re ready, Norbert,” he called to the driver. “Enjoy your morning with Miss Washer, Alex. And if you’re in earnest about courting her, let her set the terms.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Otherwise, you may be in for a much longer and less pleasant courtship.”

“Thank you, uncle. I’ll be certain to take your advice.” Alex waved as the break moved forward slowly, then turned and strolled back toward the house, hands clasped behind his back. This new information would take some pondering.

If Emma had been caught up in the bloody conflict in India, that would illuminate much about her behavior, especially her affinity for his status as a soldier. Alex longed to go find Emma this instant and ply her with questions; however, his uncle was unerringly correct. Alex must allow Emma to divulge her past to him in her own manner and in her own time.

The problem with that approach lay with their lack of time. The house party would break up on Monday and he had no idea when or where he might meet Emma again. If he was truly contemplating marrying her, and winning his wager, they needed to have the matter settled before the guests departed two days from now.

So he really couldn’t let her past be a factor in their courtship. Intriguing as the question might be, it didn’t necessarily need to be answered before they married. If it turned out she had survived that horrible uprising, then he could praise her for her endurance and grace under fire. It could prove a fascinating tale for her to relate to him lying comfortably in their bed some night.

Conjuring that image, of him and Emma entwined naked in bed together, had become his favorite way of passing the time when he wasn’t physically with her. They would make that vision a reality very soon, of that he was completely sure. No other young lady would do for him now. That had become apparent last evening when he realized Miss Emma Washer was the perfect blend of innocent young lady and wanton siren. That she didn’t understand her dual nature gave her a charm he couldn’t deny attracted him.

She’d said she wanted him to teach her more about kissing. Alex grinned as he entered the house. He’d do that with pleasure. And once they married, he could teach her so much more—the many ways a man could please a woman, and how a woman could do the same thing for a man. Thoughts of instructing his wife in the ways of the marriage bed excited him so much—

A savage throb from his member almost stopped him mid-stride. All these thoughts of Emma had aroused him fully, tenting his breeches. It would never do for her to discover him in such a state before their nuptials. Afterwards would be a different story. Now, however, he should make a detour to his room and release his tension alone before seeking her out.

He started up the stairs, taking two at a time. Rounding the newel post on the first floor, he hurried down the corridor toward the gentlemen’s wing, praying fervently he met no one, especially not Emma.

Chapter Five

Monday morning, directly after breakfast, which she could not eat, Emma headed for the rose garden to pace and think.

Alex was leaving this afternoon.

To be sure, all the guests were leaving—herself, Augusta, and Lady Tilney included—but something about the idea that she would have to stand and watch as Alex’s carriage sped down the driveway, taking him to the train station and then to London, made her stomach roil as though she might shoot the cat, as the sailors on the Scotia said of seasick passengers. She was walking about now to help steady her nerves.

Despite being together with her every day and evening of the house party, Alex still had made no move to propose to her. After he eschewed the shooting on Saturday in favor of playing croquet with her and some of the other young ladies, escorted her to the little country parish church on Sunday morning, and accompanied her, Augusta, and her chaperone to view Winchester Cathedral that afternoon, Emma had been certain he would whisk her off to the veranda last evening, fall to his knee, and propose.

Much to her dismay, he’d stayed overly long in the smoking room after dinner, he and his uncle being the last ones to enter the drawing room. When he’d finally approached her, he’d been cordial, but had kept their conversation to the most general of topics, mostly about the wretched cathedral they’d just visited. Had he lost interest so quickly? Had he decided she was too wanton after all? They hadn’t kissed again; they’d had no opportunity to do so last evening or the one before. She’d hoped she would have at least had one more chance to kiss him before they parted ways. The thought that she would not be able to do so saddened her very much indeed.

She supposed she could discover if Alex would be attending entertainments in London in the autumn and ask Lady Tilney if they could travel to Town for the Little Season. Somehow, she doubted he’d have leave from his regiment to do so, but she could inquire. The lovely morning seemed robbed of its glory, as though out of nowhere, dark gray thunderclouds had suddenly covered the clear blue sky.

How had she come to long for Captain Alexander Bancroft’s company in so short a time? She’d met other men in uniform, and although she’d enjoyed the safety their bright garb had instilled in her, something else about Alex—she couldn’t quite put her finger on it—touched a chord deep within her. Safety, of course, but a strange stirring as well whenever she called his face to mind. She’d been so certain he was searching for a wife she’d almost taken it for granted that he’d propose.

Emma pulled her white silk lace shawl around her shoulders. One really should not count their chickens, as her aunt used to admonish her. Raising her chin, Emma continued toward the back of the rose garden to the beautiful bower at the far end. If he didn’t propose, if she couldn’t bring him up to scratch during the Little Season, then she’d have to move on, try to find another man who made her feel as safe as Alex did. A tall order, of course, and barring that she’d have to accept some other gentleman. She’d imposed on Lord and Lady Tilney’s kindness quite enough. At the end of June, she’d turned one and twenty, so she now could make some of her own decisions at least. More than anything, she wanted a home of her own. But to obtain that, she needed a husband.

“Emma.”

She whirled around to find herself face to face with Alex. Apparently, he had more stealth than any cat she’d ever known. Her cheeks heated until they must look like two ripe apples. That could be accounted for by the heat, perhaps. “Alex, good morning. I wasn’t certain I’d see you before we left.”

“Did you think I’d let you escape off to London or some remote county seat without saying a single goodbye?” His admonition sounded teasing, but there was a serious glint in his eyes.

“I should certainly hope not, sir.” Smiling, she took his arm, once more thrilling at the strength of it, at the immediate sense of calm that came over her whenever she touched him. “But we didn’t get to speak much last evening and you might have had an early train.”

“On the contrary, I hope to spend a few more days here with my aunt and uncle.” His serious tone disappeared altogether. “Do you think we might prevail upon Lady Tilney to stay a few more days as well?”

Emma’s heart took off racing like a thoroughbred on Derby Day. “Oh, I do hope so.” She glanced around the rose garden, happier now than she had been in so very long. “Caxton Park has such a pleasant prospect. I know I would enjoy seeing the many walks and sights around the estate and village.” She squeezed his arm. “Especially with you as my guide.”

“That does sound delightful, doesn’t it?” They strolled along the crushed shell path, the warm breeze wafting the glorious scent of roses all about them. “Have you walked as far as the bower before?” He gestured to the structure at the end of the path, a framework of metal to which several different roses—pink, white, and yellow—clung so thickly as to create a little room. Inside stood a wooden swing wide enough for two. “It’s the prettiest spot in the garden, in my opinion.”